in memoriam
by DegenerateStar
Summary: When it's all said and done, in time we must all carry on.


**AN: Some little snippets that happen over time. Just because I watched a very emotional episode of Rizzoli and Isles dealing with the death of the actor who played Detective Frost. I don't any rights to any references to information or the show Person of Interest or Rizzoli and Isles.**

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><p><em>In 1969 Swiss-American Psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross wrote a book entitled 'On death and Dying'. This book explored the topic of emotional stages that a person can face when dealing with death. She theorized that there were 5 common stages. 1. Denial, 2. Anger, 3. Bargaining, 4. Depression, 5. Acceptance.<em>

_Although theses are commonly known as the 5 stages of grief, Ross stated that the stages can happen in any order over any time period. She also stated that a person may not exhibit all the stages of grief, nor should the stages be considered a checklist for all the emotions a person can feel. Though she did hypothesize that a person will exhibit at least two of the stages_

**I. Denial, Bargaining, Anger, Depression, Acceptance**

Fusco slowly moved toward his desk and sat down. He couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it.

Lionel hastily reached into his pocket and yanked out his phone and scrolled through his call log of incoming and outgoing calls. He stared at the last incoming call he had and read it over and over again.

Displayed on the florescent LED screen next to a red arrow indicating an incoming call read 'Carter 3 hours ago'.

3 hours ago, 180 minutes, that was how long had passed since they last spoke to each other. Three hours since she told him she got her badge back. All it took was three hours for everything to go to hell.

He dropped his phone on his desk and cradled his head. As he lifted his head he stared at the desk in front of him.

Fusco slowly rose from his seat and walked over to the desk. The department had given her back her old desk.

He slowly picked up her name plate and ran his thumb over the print.

'J. Carter' .

This couldn't be happening, someone made a mistake, she wasn't dead she couldn't be dead.

As he held her name plate, all he could think of was all of the things he could've done differently; If only he could have taken care of Simmons when he had the chance. If only he could have foreseen who was behind HR to begin with. If only he had paid attention to what she was doing, he could have helped her.

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><p>Fusco stared at the piece of paper that he confiscated from the hotel, as he sat in his car waiting for Simmons. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. He was pissed this bastard didn't deserve to live, not after what he had done.<p>

Carter should be at home with her son, she didn't deserve what she got. How the hell could the powers that be allow for such a person to be gunned down?

Fusco harden his face as he saw Simmons approaching the hanger. Despite his feeling of anger and hate and resentment he was going to do right by her. He took a deep breath and got out of his car. He was going to end this the right way, he was going to keep on the path that Carter put him on.

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><p>Lionel stared at the tray of coffee the barista had given him. He wasn't even thinking when he asked for the usual. He picked up his coffee and stared at the other cup that had Carter written on it in black marker.<p>

A sigh escaped his mouth he didn't have the nerve to give the cup back, nor did he have the nerve to throw it away.

Fusco looked down at the files on his desk. It was a challenge everyday to come to work and do his job. Some days he felt like it was pointless to keep on but he knew Carter wouldn't want him to give up.

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><p>Fusco stood in the lobby of the precinct waiting for his new partner to finish cataloging the evidence from their new crime scene. At first he gave the captain hell for assigning him a new partner. But the kid had grown on him, she was a newbie who just got her detective shield.<p>

As he was waiting his eyes glanced toward the 'In Memoriam' wall that was displayed in the lobby.

Inscribed on the black marble slab in gold lettering were the names of their fallen brothers and sisters. Fusco's eyes lingered on the last name engraved on the wall 'Jocelyn Carter'.

It had been months since she was murdered and he still missed her but he was doing his best to follow in her footsteps.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard his new partner call out his name. As he watched her making her way over to he couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face for a few seconds.

She kind of reminded him of Carter. The kid's heart was in the right place and she had a rigid moral backbone that never seemed to waver under pressure. Not to mention the kid had more moxie than a spitfire.

With the right direction and guidance, in time he could mold her into a detective that Carter would be proud of.

He glanced back and looked at Carter's name one last time as he nodded in respect and then made his way out of the precinct with his new partner in tow.

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><p><strong>II. Denial,Depression,Anger,Bargaining,Acceptance<strong>

Taylor sat in the waiting room of the hospital. His dad was kneeling in front of him talking to him but he couldn't hear the words that were coming out of his mouth.

They were all lying; the police lied, the nurses lied, and the doctor lied. His mom wasn't gone.

Taylor closed his eyes and clinched his fist. As soon as he opened his eyes he was going to be back at his father's place. He had to go back to his father's place and pack, he was just spending the week with his father and then his Mom was coming to get him on Sunday.

This wasn't happening. When he opened his eyes he wasn't going to be in the hospital. His Mom was fine. She was at home, safe and sound

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><p>It had been a few weeks since he watched his Mother get buried. He was now living with his Dad.<p>

Taylor sat at the kitchen table picking at his food his Dad was watching him like a hawk. He used to eat 5 to 6 times a day. His Mom used to say he was a human garbage disposal. But now it was hard to finish one plate of food.

He just wanted to sleep all day, he hadn't talked to any of his friends since the day it happened. He just wanted to be left alone. He was sick and tired of people asking him if he was okay and he was tired of people telling him that they knew how he felt.

He was tired he just wanted to go to bed, at least in his sleep he could forget reality for a few hours.

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><p>It had been 2 weeks since his Dad made him go back to school. He hated it. Everyone keep looking at him and whispering about the fact that his Mom was dead.<p>

The teachers made it worse by trying to coddle him and treating him differently. All his teachers gave him extensions on his assignments and made it a point of avoiding calling on him in class.

It was starting to irritate him. He didn't need or want their sympathy. In fact a lot of things were getting under his skin lately.

It bothered him that reporters keep calling and asking to interview him and his family. It irritated him that the Mayor wanted to sit down with them and offer his personal condolences.

Taylor looked down at his handcuffed hands as he sat in the security office of his school. Waiting for the police and his Father, his knuckles hurt and were bloody. His irritation boiled over into anger today.

One of the kids whose father was a dirty cop went to school with him. He and his two friends were hassling him at lunch. He was going to take the high road and ignore them and just walk away.

He really didn't remember how it happened. All he remembered was one of them calling his Mom a 'dead pig' and then the security guards had to subdue him.

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><p>Taylor sat in the waiting room of the psychiatrist office waiting for his mandatory appointment the judge let him off the hook for assault as long as his Father sought him psychiatrist help for a minimum of 1 year.<p>

The counseling wasn't helping it fact it was making him feel guilty and responsible. When he was little kid his always worried that his Mom was going to come home from the war. He use wait patiently for the mail everyday to see if his Mom got the letters and pictures he and his Grandma would send to her while she was away.

He remembered the day that his mom came home for good. He felt so happy that he didn't have to worry about her leaving him like Dad left them.

His happy feeling left again when he found out that she was going to be a cop instead of a lawyer. Maybe if he had cried and pleaded with her to change her career she would still be alive.

If only he had told her more often that he had nightmares that one day she wouldn't come home. If only he could have snooped around and found out why she was acting weird she would still be alive.

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><p>Taylor removed his graduation cap and placed a bundle of flowers on his Moms gravestone.<p>

He had done a lot of growing both physically and mentally. He was man now and he was sad that his Mother didn't get to see his graduation but if what they said at church was true she was watching over him.

He smiled at her gravestone she would be so proud of him, he got into Yale. He was going to be a lawyer and he was going to make sure that people like Quinn and Simmons's spent the rest of their lives behind bars.

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><p><strong>III. Depression, Acceptance<strong>

Harold sat at his desk looking at a photograph of Jocelyn. He rubbed his eyes he had been trying to track down John for days. They had all lost someone that night. Fusco lost a partner, Taylor lost his mother, and John he lost someone special, and judging from the conversation he overheard, John had also lost another woman he loved and he had lost another friend. Seeing Jocelyn die before his eyes brought back all the grief and guilt he felt about every person he had ever lost.

She was such a unique person. If there were more people like her in the world he wouldn't need the machine.

At first he was warily to include her in his and Johns activities but eventually he learn to trust her. A small smile spread across his face it was strange, Jocelyn had a way about her that made him feel at ease. No wonder John was so attached to her she had a way about making the people she cared about feel secure.

Harold's small smile turned into a deep frown. After hearing what John had said to her, he wasn't surprised that John was on a revenge campaign. The man was in love with Jocelyn and fate had ripped her away from him. He didn't know what he would do if Grace were to ever share Jocelyn fate.

He could never truly sympathize with John, his separation to the woman he loved was self imposed. She was still alive and living her life. John was dealt another terrible blow to his heart and soul he had lost not one love but two.

Harold gently sat her photo down on his desk, he needed to find Sam and John. Jocelyn wouldn't want them spilling blood in her name.

Harold gathered his things and went to meet Detective Fusco. He was going to make sure that John was safe not only for his own sanity but because he knew Jocelyn would want him to take care of John for her. She would want him to remind John that giving in when it looked like all hope was lost was never an option.

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><p><strong>IV. Anger,Acceptance<strong>

Shaw shook out her arms and neck and grabbed a bottle of water and stared at her punching bag. She was pissed. She may not know how to emotionally connect with people but she liked Carter. It was rare that she ran across people she liked.

Carter reminded her of Cole. They both liked helping people just because it was the right thing to do. A smirk spread across Shaw's face as she remembered how Carter handled her weapons. She would've loved to bust knee caps and noses with Carter.

It kind of surprised her the first time she met Carter. Shaw had expected her to be a pencil pusher, but she was happily surprised when she turned out to be a full blooded badass.

Carter was just like Cole, they were both two people that gave their all to what they believed in. Neither one of them deserved to die the way they did.

Shaw squared her face, Simmons better hope that police find him first.

She may not be able to feel the emotional pain of loss like normal people but she did know how to feel physical pain and anger. Carter was gone and the only thing she could do about it was bruise her knuckles until the physical pain drove away the anger.

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><p><strong>V. Denial, Anger, Depression, Bargaining, Acceptance<strong>

He keep opening and closing his eyes as he held her limp body in his arms. This wasn't real, it was all just a hallucination, a nightmare, and he was going to wake up soon. She wasn't dead, Joss wasn't dead.

He checked her pulse again and swallowed his broken sobs. She wasn't gone she couldn't be. How the hell had the machine let this happen to him again? This was worse than Jessica, he didn't have to see how Jessica died. He didn't have to hold Jessica while she struggled to breathe because of a bullet hole in her chest. He was thousands of miles away when Jessica died it was physical impossible for him to reach out and save her.

But Joss was standing right in front of him, less than two feet away.

John buried his face in her hair and cried, he didn't care who saw him. In between his sobs he kept pleading with her to come back.

There was so much left unsaid between them, their time together couldn't be up, he still needed her. How was he suppose to continue doing this without her?

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><p>John clutched his side as he made his way into the garbage truck and waited for the black SUV to come around the corner. He had ditched his phone and ear piece three days ago. He was on a mission and no one was going to interfere.<p>

He was probably going to die from his wounds but not before he found Quinn and Simmons. He was going to kill them both. As soon as he saw the SUV go around the corner he threw the truck in drive and drove directly into the vehicle at full speed.

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><p>John paid for his liquor and made his way out of the store. He was passing through Chicago trying to get away from his memories and grief. Every time he woke up from being passed out from drinking he thought it was all a bad dream and then reality rolled in like a storm cloud.<p>

After walking aimlessly around the city John found an empty park bench. He made his way over to it and sat down. After a few minutes of silence he pulled out his new disposable phone and dialed a number that he knew by heart.

He silently listened to the rings until the voicemail picked up. 'Hi this is Jocelyn Carter, Please leave your name, phone number, and a brief message, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.' As soon as the beep was over he ended the call and redialed her number just to hear her voice again.

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><p>If only he could go back and change things. He shouldn't have let her take down HR by herself. If only he had killed Simmons instead of knocking him around Joss would still be alive.<p>

If only he had tracked down and killed Quinn as soon as he found out he was the Head of HR. If only he had intervened when he had the chance she would still be alive.

Why didn't he fight harder to save her? The night before she went off the grind he should of kidnapped her and tied her to a chair in a safe house and not let her go until he took care of the Russians and HR.

If only he had done a million other things she would still be alive. It really was his fault she was dead. If he had cut ties with her when he had the chance maybe she would be down in Quantico working with the FBI.

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><p>John stared at Jocelyn's head stone and took in the engravings 'Jocelyn Carter Beloved mother and daughter.' His eyes lingered on the Latin phase near the bottom of the stone 'Fidelis ad Mortem'. She most certainly was and he was going to stop disrespecting her memory.<p>

He placed the bouquet filled with carnations, lilies and roses at the base of her head stone. He was going to take up Joss's mantle and he was going to help people. He was going to do for others what she did for him. He didn't come back because just for the numbers he came back because of Joss, she would want him to watch over their friends and make sure they all stayed out of trouble.

John stood up and slowly made his way out of the cemetery, he wasn't going to move on and forget, he was going to carry on and remember.

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><p><strong>AN: Fidelis ad Mortem is Latin and it can be translated as 'faithful until death'. It's also the motto of the NYPD<strong>


End file.
